


Someone To Watch Over Him

by LadyJaguar



Category: Holby City
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hexanna, Hurt/Comfort, Panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 03:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaguar/pseuds/LadyJaguar
Summary: I wrote this after watching Holby City's Episode 4 Series 20, Hanssen Is As Hanssen Does. I wanted to know where he would have gone after abandoning his car and running into the night.This is my version.





	Someone To Watch Over Him

He had lost his mind. It had been happening for some time, like an iceberg melting under water, the cracks not showing until it silently breaks apart, horribly visible to everyone surrounding them.

There was no escape, however far he ran.

It had begun to rain, the drops running slickly down his tightly-belted coat. The temperature was dropping, the night deepening. He couldn't remember how long he had walked for, or even what the time was. Or even what day it was. His clothes were wet through.

He was cold.

As stone.

The lights of the city were far behind him. Ahead, only darkness. His feet were sore from his headlong flight but he didn't care about that. He welcomed the pain. In some perverse way, it reminded him he was still alive.

Ahead was a bridge, overlooking fast-running water. The river was in full spate due to the recent storms. It wasn't an area he was familiar with. He wondered where the river was going, how long it would take to reach the sea, and whether it would be willing to take him with it.

No-one would miss him. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was the simmering anger of Fletch, the cold reserve of Jac, the stoicism of Essie, and the great empty space where his family should have been.

They would have been with him, and no-one would have lost their lives if he hadn't been so .... Immovable, and so reluctant to open himself up to emotion. Love, pain and loss were all as terrifying as open-heart surgery without anaesthetic, a self-fulfilling prophecy, destined to haunt him until his last day.

He gripped the iron railings, feeling the siren call of the black water. A harsh sound, keening and anguished, rent the air. It took several moments to realise it was coming from him. The rain mingled with the tears on his face, blurring his vision. The water's siren call was getting louder. He did not want to resist it, yet something held him back.

'Are you okay?'

He turned towards the voice. It was female, concerned.

Before he could reply, he felt a heavy weight on his stomach, two large paws belonging to a huge, hairy beast, tongue lolling. He could feel the warmth of its breath briefly on his face. He pushed it away with a harsh cry.

'Bruno, down! I'm so sorry. He's not usually that friendly.' The torch light swung and briefly illuminated a woman not much younger than himself, with a gleam of blonde hair under a yellow waterproof. 'Oh God, look at your coat!'

'It's quite alright.' He marvelled at how level his voice sounded. How normal. The mud stuck to his fingers as he tried to brush it away, but all he succeeded in doing was smearing it into his coat even further. It wasn't alright. The damned thing would need dry cleaning, but he was too mentally exhausted to say so.

The torch shone in his face.

'Would you mind not doing that?'

'Sorry. Are you lost? You're a long way from anywhere.'

'I'm perfectly fine,' he said, wishing she would go away.

'You don't sound fine.' The torch light grazed his face again. 'You don't look it, either.'

'You're a long away from anywhere as well,' he said, deflecting the question.

'I live just up the hill.' She turned towards the city lights. 'It's beautiful, even in the rain.'

'Is it?' He felt hollow. It had been so long since he saw beauty in anything.

'Why are you here? You weren't about to do anything foolish, were you?'

'Why would you think that?'

'It's happened before. A quiet place. Very little traffic. No chance of disturbance. There are worse places to die.'

He shivered, struck by the ludicrous notion that she might be some kind of spirit, waiting to entice him to a watery grave. 'I was just out for a walk.'

'People are more concerned than you think, Henrik Hanssen.'

He tensed at the mention of his name. The gentleness in her voice was too much to bear. He gripped the railings again, attempting to pull together his unravelling emotions.

'My son ... did so much damage.'

Her hand was gentle on his shoulder. 'Yes, he did, but you're not to blame.'

He shook his head. 'You're wrong.'

The rain was increasing. He shivered as cold droplets worked their way down under the collar of his coat.

'Please, come home with me. It's cold out here and you're soaking wet. If you want to talk to someone, talk to me.'

'I don't want to talk.'

'Fair enough, but I'm not leaving you here.' She covered one of his hands with her own. 'You stay, I stay. That's the deal.'

Already, the warmth was seeping into his fingers, even though the touch of another seemed strangely unfamiliar. After a few indecisive moments, he allowed her to lead him from the bridge.

 

******

 

It was surreal, walking in the rain, hand in hand with a stranger towards an unknown destination. There was no sound apart from the hiss of the rain. No words seemed necessary. The hand in his was firm and warm, guiding him through the dark. It did not seem fanciful to imagine she was some kind of woodland sprite, with her wolf companion by her side. Scandinavian folklore was full of such creatures, living in the fragrant, primeval woods.

Ahead was a welcoming light. As they reached it, he realised how cold he was, and soaked to the bone.

She lived in a small cottage, as ancient as the hills surrounding it. The low-beamed kitchen was as warm as a mother's hug, with a red Aga providing much of the heat. Instantly, he was blinded by the fog covering his glasses.

Gentle fingers removed them, allowing him to see again, if somewhat hazily. He stepped forward, and was instantly smacked hard on the forehead.

'Mind the beam,' his companion said, a moment too late.

He gasped and blinked the stars from his vision. She guided him to a chair and sat him down, then pressed a cool flannel to his head. After a moment, the sharp pain eased to a gentle throb.

The radiating warmth of the Aga beckoned. Cautiously, he rose and took another tentative step, ducking as he did so. With his great height, he seemed to fill the intimate space, leaving little room for his far more sensibly-sized guardian angel.

She took his coat which, as he suspected, was filthy.

'Go and warm up,' she said, passing him a towel to dry his hair. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his jacket, hanging it over a kitchen chair. The back and shoulders were darkened with rain. Then he noticed his suit trousers were soaked below the knee, and his socks were damp. No doubt his black leather shoes were ruined as well. He tugged off his socks and held them awkwardly. The enormous wolf/dog watched him with yellow eyes. The beast smelled of mud and wet fur, adding to the fug in the small room. Normally, he would find such surroundings claustrophobic but not this time. Instead, he felt strangely safe.

He sneaked a look at the woman, who had removed her own coat and rubber boots. She was pleasingly shaped, with curves in all the right places. When she reached up to towel-dry her strawberry blonde hair, he momentarily forgot the circumstances that had led him to the bridge. She smiled briefly, as if his appreciation both startled and pleased her.

'Tea? Or something stronger?'

'What are you offering?' As he said it, he realised how suggestive that sounded. 'I mean...'

She laughed easily. 'I know what you meant.' She took the socks out of his hands and laid them across the top of the Aga.

In the warm room, his tie felt too constrictive so he loosened that as well, then took it off completely, rolled it into a ball and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, before undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

'Better?' She was watching him.

He nodded briefly and looked towards the door. 'I suppose I should go back and face the music.'

'And yet you're systematically taking your clothes off.'

He huffed a laugh. 'I suppose you're right.' Looking at her comely figure in tight blue jeans and a snug vee-necked top, it occurred to him to suggest she do the same.

_Where did that come from?_

He groped for his glasses and wiped them dry on his shirt, fumbling to put them on. It was hardly his style to proposition strange women. _But then, it was hardly his style to strip his office, abandon his car and run off into the night, was it?_

Something was happening to him. Something terrifying.

He had lost control, and now he was staring into a future unknown.

'I ran like a coward,' he said bitterly. 'What will people think of me now? The Board....'

'... will realise you're human, and under a huge amount of pressure.' She ran the back of her hand down his cheek. 'Henrik, there's only so much pain a human being can bear. You've had your fill, that's all. You need to rest.'

He closed his eyes, letting her thumb stroke his cheek.

'You're not going anywhere. It's nearly midnight and you're worn out. I'll take you back tomorrow morning, if that's really what you want. Have some of this.' She poured two shots of single malt into two tumblers and pushed one towards him.

'What I want doesn't matter. It's what I have to do.' He looked bleakly at the contents of his tumbler, but all he could see was the crushing guilt he could not escape from.

She sat opposite him and took his hand again. 'It matters to me.'

'You don't know me.' Yet he did not remove his hand from hers. Her hands were so much smaller than his, yet strong and capable.

'I know of you. I know you are a principled man, but like so many men, you think that showing emotion is a weakness. You loved Frederik, even after he did such terrible things, and that's what you can't reconcile within yourself. People may think you're cold and uncaring but the problem is, you care too much, but can't express it. Does that make sense?'

He looked at her. Who was this woman? She seemed to reach into his very soul. They were strangers, and yet she had seen that tiny ember within him and had sparked it into life.

'It's been a very long day.' He took a sip of the Scotch, feeling the high alcohol content light a fire in the pit of his stomach. 'I really should go.'

'Why? What are you afraid of?'

Something about her seemed to command complete honesty. He looked directly into her eyes for the first time. 'Right now, I think I'm more afraid of you than anything else.'

'I'm not forcing you to stay.'

'I know. I'm scared because I want to stay. I don't even know your name. You know mine but I don't know yours.'

'If you're still here in the morning, I'll tell you then.' The light in her hazel eyes danced.

He shivered as memories swept over him again. One memory stood out, sharply in focus.

'Oliver Valentine,' he said suddenly. 'At the memorial service. I was standing there, trying to get the damned speech over and done with. Everyone watching, probably wondering why I was there at all, waiting for me to apologise for what Frederik did, to find the words to make everything normal again. Those faces, those eyes, like crows on a telephone line, waiting to swoop down and pick at the roadkill.' He stared at her. 'That's what I feel like. Roadkill. And yet I don't deserve to feel that way. People were lost, through no fault of their own. Frederik's behaviour was all my fault. I failed him as a father ...'

She moved next to him and slipped her arm around his shoulder. 'Henrik, you may have been the worst father in the world but no-one could have predicted what he would do. What about Oliver? What happened to him?'

He took a deep breath, recalling the details. 'I had been with him earlier, talking to him. Roxanna said it would help.' He took off his glasses and buried his head in his hands. 'She said it would help unlock his memories. I didn't want ... 'He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'It seemed to be a positive experience at the time, despite my misgivings.'

'But then what happened?'

He leaned into her embrace. She was warm and soft and smelled of roses and whisky.

'He saw me. Really saw me. And I could see the dawning horror on his face as he began to remember.' He looked at her. 'Imagine being locked in a box, desperate to escape, and when you do, the first thing you see is the person who put you in there in the first place.'

She wrapped both arms around him. 'You didn't put him there, Henrik. Frederik did. He did. Not you.'

For several sweet moments, he luxuriated in her warmth before pulling abruptly away. She was being too good to him. There had to be an ulterior motive.

'Who are you? Why were you on the bridge?'

'Bruno was restless. I think he sensed you needed help.'

The dog rested its head on Hanssen's thigh, watching at him with bright blue eyes. It was hard not to melt into that adoring gaze.

'Then I think Bruno is a very clever dog.' As Henrik fussed the dog's grey, velvety ears, exhaustion hit him like a truck. He had faced more terrors that night than he'd ever dared to before. 'I think ... I need to rest now.'

She took his hands and pulled him to his feet. 'Watch your head on the ...' She winced as he very nearly struck his forehead on the low oak beam again. 'That was close. Come with me.'

He followed her up the winding, narrow staircase. The cottage was even tinier upstairs, with one bedroom and a bathroom. The ceiling seemed even lower than it had been downstairs.

She motioned to the bed. 'Lie down and you won't injure yourself.'

He sat on the bed, which was soft and inviting. The whole room was neat and feminine. 'Where will you sleep?'

'The sofa downstairs. Get some rest.' She turned to go.

'Angel?'

She stopped and looked back at him. 'Why did you call me that?'

He managed the smallest of smiles. 'I don't know your real name, and you were there for me, like a guardian angel.'

She smiled crookedly. 'A fallen one, perhaps.'

He took a deep breath. The words were hard to say, but he'd have yet more to regret if he did not say them. 'Stay with me.'

She hovered in the doorway. 'Say that again, so I know you mean it.'

He looked up at her. 'I don't want to be alone. I'm so tired of being alone.' He reached for her hands and laced their fingers together, pulling her towards him. She stroked his hair as he rested his head against her stomach, feeling her breathing. After a while, he looked up at her again. 

"Take off your clothes. Please."

It was an exquisitely slow process, peeling away their layers, carefully watching each other's eyes for any sign that what they were doing would have to stop. His body had reacted instantly to her pink-tipped breasts and the aroma of warm, aroused woman, both enigmas to him for so long. His hunger was immediate and desperate, but he had to show restraint. He didn't want her thinking she had taken in a man with dishonourable intentions. 

"I know what I'm doing," she said, lifting his chin with her finger so he saw her face was serious. 

"Why me?" 

"Does it matter?" Her lips were velvet on his as she pushed him back onto the bed. He closed his eyes as she crawled on top of him again, holding him close in a deeply intimate embrace that sent an electric pulse right through his body. A gasp tore out of him as he was enclosed in her warmth. He wouldn't last, not like that. She was too tight, too enveloping. He spun her so she was underneath him. Her eyes sparkled as he throbbed inside her.

"Just let go," she whispered. "We have all night."

 

******

 

'What happens now?' He lay in her arms in the womb-like warmth of the duvet. "How can I go back and face them all?"

'Don't go back straight away. You need time to mourn. Your absence will allow others to as well.'

'What will I do in the meantime?'

She dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder. 'You'll heal. Everyone heals eventually, given time. You'll have scar tissue, but you're too good at your job to walk away for good. People need you, whether they know it yet or not.'

He moved round to face his guardian angel. Her hair spread across the pillow, and her lower limbs twined around his like silken ropes.

'What if I'm not ready to face the world yet?'

'No-one is forcing you to. Just tell them you're safe and well. That's all they need to know for now. You're taking a sabbatical, extended bereavement. You owe it to yourself.' Her fingers drifted over his face. 'Hush. Sleep now.'

As they slept, deep night gradually faded to dreary morning. When he woke, he remembered the cold, the driving rain, the throb of pain in his feet, and yet, looking around, he was in an unfamiliar room, naked in bed with a strange, not unattractive woman, his body curled around hers, one hand cupping a full breast.

It wasn't quite how he expected to wake up after the nightmarish day before.

Carefully easing away from the sleeping woman, he reached for his glasses and put them on, then sat up, considering his situation.

It was strange, how a night in the arms of a stranger put everything into perspective. Nothing had changed, yet everything had. The road ahead was still rocky, leading into the unknown, yet somehow, he would negotiate it. At least one person on the Godforsaken planet believed in him.

And right then, it was enough.

His phone buzzed softly, indicating a text message. After a moment's consideration, he picked it up.

There were at least twenty messages, all asking if he was all right, all showing concern. He read then through, his mouth twitching in an occasional smile. The last one was from Sacha.

_Please let me know you're alive._

His angel's eyes flickered open and she turned to face him. In the half-light, her skin was caramel and cream.

'Are you leaving?' She asked.

He hesitated before replying. 'Do you want me to?'

She stretched, showing off her luscious curves. 'You can stay as long as you want.'

Henrik looked at the phone in his hand, and quickly tapped out a return message to Sacha.

_I'm quite well, thank you. I'm taking bereavement leave._

He pressed "Send" and slid back under the covers.

Finally, something in his life was going right.


End file.
